


Harvest

by ChampagneSly



Series: Wine Verse [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Romance, Sequel, Wine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-31
Updated: 2012-05-31
Packaged: 2017-11-06 10:46:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/417981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChampagneSly/pseuds/ChampagneSly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of interconnected ficlets and one-shots as sequels to "My Heart is Drenched in Wine." </p><p>Romance and domesticity and smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harmonde](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmonde/gifts).



On Friday nights, when the last tourist has finally gone the fuck back to wherever they came from and the fields have gotten too dark or the cellar too cold for any more work, Lovino heads back to the Bodega and graciously rescues an overly grateful Antonio from the doldrums of reconciling the books and declares the work week over. When they finally make to the warmth and privacy of their small and cluttered kitchen, Antonio turns on the radio to the same station that fills the room with the sounds of flamenco and asks Lovino what’s for dinner tonight, because Fridays are Lovino’s night to cook and Antonio’s chance to pick the wine, turning the routine of the week inside out as they slowly lay down the professional and hoard as many hours of the personal that they can find between the demands of the vine and stove.

And because he’s too weak to resist the little smile of delight Antonio has every time he does it, Lovino tosses on the idiotic apron the bastard bought him on their first Christmas together and tolerates the effusive affection Antonio presses over his cheeks, his nose and his lips in an effort to follow the instructions of the goddamned apron and “Kiss the Cook.” Its ridiculous and fucking embarrassing, but its also the first time Antonio has kissed him since the morning when he tasted of toothpaste and not at all like whatever fruity and for shit wine with which Antonio’s decided to torture him, and so he tolerates the embrace and maybe even returns it a little until a different kind of hunger gets the better of him.

While he prepares a true Italian meal that will have Antonio’s taste buds weeping with fucking envy, Lovino calls his brother and listens to him chatter about the comings and goings at the Tenuta. He tosses out bastard in all the appropriate places when Feliciano lingers too long on the subject of Rome or Ludwig, hums in thanks when Feliciano tells him to add more basil to his sauce, and flushes and avoids Antonio’s too fond gaze when he stammers out an, “ _I love you, too.”_

They eat the dinner he’s made (it doesn’t hold a candle to what Antonio can do and when he’s two glasses into the crap booze Antonio bought “just for fun,” he sometimes tells Antonio this just to see the pleasure and pride in Antonio’s eyes) and they talk. Antonio waxes rhapsodic about the fresh strawberries that he can’t wait to incorporate into the restaurant’s menu and Lovino grumbles about the slow bud break with the Grenache and the conversation is really fucking boring and entirely perfect. Antonio’s chosen wine, cheap and easy, pairs well with the tired ease of their words and the way that Antonio somehow always ends up sliding his chair to the same side of the table so he can pick at Lovino’s plate and wind his arm around his shoulders and hold him loose and sweet while their glasses run slowly dry. 

No matter how often he protests that its fucking unnecessary, Antonio always makes him dessert, even though its not his turn to cook and he knows the bastard has better uses of his skill than making Lovino something sweet to go with the bottle of Sauternes Lovino can’t help but drag out of the cupboard. He always thinks he must be too tipsy or too exhausted by the time they reach the last bites of whatever sin Antonio’s concocted that night because he lets Antonio dip the spoon between his lips and chase the sugar with a kiss that promises something more intoxicating than any wine in his cellar. 

And when Antonio whispers to him that they should leave the dishes for tomorrow morning, or maybe even for Sunday, Lovino has nothing more to add than a mumbled  _fuck yes._ If the evening’s made of clinging warmth, he lets Antonio drag him to the patio and closes his eyes while Antonio presses him into into the thin cushion of the lounger and divests him of his clothes until they’re both half-naked and shameless in the hot night air, giving the moon a reason to be jealous. 

But most Fridays, Lovino shoves his chair back from the table and flicks off the kitchen light while Antonio holds him from behind, distracting him as they walk up the stairs to their bedroom with promises and threats of what they are going to do with the hours that remain to them before Saturday dawns. In bed, he takes Antonio in his arms and kisses him to still the needless, ridiculous whispers of affection and desire, so known and still so unfamiliar that he can’t take much before his face goes too red and he’s ready to say embarrassing shit of his own. The sheets fall to the floor and the walls are papered in echoes of curses, sighs, and moans. And though the act changes and hands and lips and bodies touch, taste and move in ways that never fail to surprise him, the sentiment behind each kiss and push/pull is the damnably same..and when its over, Antonio still smiles at him like its the first time Lovino took him to bed and let him inside. 

Antonio is soft and sweet against him, mussed and fucking beautiful, even at night, even after long days and unforgiving hours, and Lovino never ceases wondering how it is that such a man would want to fall asleep with Lovino’s scathing mouth still pressed against his throat, feeling the beating of his heart with his lips. But as he succumbs to the pleasure of sleep after a week of work that may take years to yield results, Lovino chooses to trust in the too many times Antonio professes his undying devotion every day of the week and whispers a last demand that Antonio make him pancakes to start their Saturday morning.


	2. Pairing Suggestions for Romantics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Proposals

“This had better be good, bastard,” Lovino grumbled, throwing his hands out in front of his body as he tried to trust Antonio not to walk him into wall or let him trip over his own feet. His eyes were covered, sight hidden by one of his own goddamned ties, since he refused to let of Antonio’s excuses for come anywhere near him, even if only to be used as a blindfold, and his heart was in his throat as he tried to guess  _what_  exactly was so damned secret that it necessitated temporary blindness.   
  
“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Antonio murmured in his ear, wrapping one arm around his waist and taking Lovino’s outstretched hand into his own, fitting their bodies together so they moved forward in an awkwardly efficient tarantella, “I would never let any harm come to my Lovino.”    
  
Lovino rolled his eyes and grimaced before realizing that Antonio couldn’t see his face, and even if he could, his impressive display of scorn was partially obscured by his favorite red silk tie.    
  
“This better not be some bullshit form of foreplay, asshole,” Lovino said lowly, even as his body betrayed him by leaning back into the warm expanse of Antonio’s broad, familiar chest, “We can fuck  _after_ I’ve finished inventory.”    
  
He felt a smile against his throat and rumbling laughter against his back as Antonio answered cheerfully, “I’ll keep that mind! But that’s not what I why I needed you to come with me…though if you want to hold on to the blindfold for later…”    
  
“Pervert,” Lovino teased lowly, rubbing his thumb over the ridge of Antonio’s hand, considering the suggestion, desire blossoming on his cheeks and beneath the five points of warmth spread across his stomach.    
  
“For you, always,” Antonio agreed readily, “Ah, watch your step here, just a little bit of a stair,” he paused, comforting hands leaving Lovino’s waist for the length of time it took for what sounded like a door to open, “And now, only a little further.”    
  
Lovino let Antonio take his wrists, strangely excited to be at last at the moment of revelation, holding his breath as he listened to the door snick shut once more. Antonio’s arms circled him from behind, hands pressed over his chest, holding him with loose, dangerous affection, letting him feel the excited racing of Antonio’s heart against his back.    
  
“Enough with the fucking suspense already,” Lovino breathed out, raising his hands to the silk over his eyes, only to have his progress halted by Antonio’s warm fingers against his and the gentle admonition in his ear.   
  
“Ah, ah, that’s for me to do, love,” Antonio whispered, sounding oddly nervous for the man who wasn’t wearing the blindfold, “I just…before I take this off, I want to say I hope you like it and I hope it makes you happy because you have made me so happy and I want to make all your dreams come true just like you’ve done for me.”    
  
“Well…fuck,” Lovino mumbled over the pounding of his heart, cheeks flushing hot, uncertain of what to say to such a damned embarrassing declaration, besides  _“I feel the same goddamned way,”_  which was just out of the question.

Finally, he was saved from having to choke out any of the thousand sentimental words lodged in his throat by the falling of the veil covered his eyes, removed so slowly by fingers that shook ever so slightly.

“There,” Antonio murmured, kissing his cheek as he blinked, waiting for his eyes to adjust so the scene before him was no longer blurred. 

Stunned, Lovino’s mouth fell open with only a whispered, “Damn,” as he laid eyes for the first time on the completed, totally renovated, and entirely beautiful Bodega Carriedo Restaurant. 

“What do you think?” Antonio asked, voice sweetly hopeful, taking advantage of Lovino’s continued shock to lace their hands together and lead him towards the table for two set in the center of the restaurant floor. 

Lovino didn’t know quite where to look first, entirely impressed that someone who could barely match their clothes had managed to create such an elegant, yet simple, space that somehow promised a feast for the senses. Of course, he had seen all the plans, walked through the renovations a hundred times, and even just last week since the empty, finished space. But now, it was full of life and warmth…and Antonio. 

“Its fucking gorgeous and you know it,” Lovino grumbled, swinging Antonio around to face him, kissing the smugness of his mouth and letting him taste his approval on his tongue. 

“Hopefully the food will be as good as the decor,” Antonio said when they separated though their bodies still clung stubbornly together, Antonio nuzzling against his neck, practically radiating happiness. 

Lovino pinched his side and bit his jaw, “Now you’re just fishing for compliments, asshole.” 

Antonio winked at him, smiling innocently as he shrugged, “Maybe Lovino will give me his opinion on the new menu as well, just to make sure?” 

“Fine,” Lovino huffed, breaking out of Antonio’s clinging hold to move to the one set table in the room, with its candlelight and fine china, “But only because this is my fucking restaurant too and I have to make sure the food goes with the wine.” 

“Of course, sweetheart,” Antonio answered indulgently, giving him that fucking annoying look he just meant Antonio was thinking,   _Oooh Lovino’s so cute when he’s being bossy and pretends he doesn’t remember that I also was brought up in the wine world, but I like the way he looks when I let him have his way, so I’ll just go along with it_.

He knew this because once, when very drunk and more than a little horny, Antonio had told him those exact words while also trying to stick his greedy hands down his goddamned pants.

Bastard. 

Scowling, he picked up the menu to hide his flaming face from Antonio’s knowing gaze, letting  his eyes and his stomach make careful note of each of the dishes listed. Grudgingly, he had to admit that Antonio had done a decent job pairing his creations with the Bodega and the Villa Solare’s best wines. 

“Not bad,” Lovino said quietly, peering at Antonio’s contented smile from behind the menu, daring to nudge one hand under the tanned fingers drumming on the table, “Some of the vintages are a little off, but in general, bastard, this isn’t half bad.” 

Antonio’s smile deepened, slow and warm in the flickering candle light as he raised Lovino’s hand to his lips, biting down gently on his knuckles.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” Antonio murmured, “You’ve given me such wonderful things, how could I not want to try my hardest to showcase how perfectly our creations go together?” 

Lovino blushed and looked away, grumbling about sentimental bastards and their fucking bullshit under his breath, knowing that Antonio would ignore all his bluster and think only of the way he had turned his palm so their hands were holding once again, fingers intertwined on the table like some teenage couple on their fucking first date. 

  


“Yeah, I think we’ll do alright with this place,” Lovino acknowledged softly, gazing around the room once more, knowing that this investment had been the best one he’d ever made. 

  


“Mmm,” Antonio said, tugging at his hand until Lovino snapped his neck around to grace him with his attention once more, “I was thinking perhaps it might be nice for a wedding.” 

  


Surprised by the suggestion, Lovino’s lips pursed as he considered, thinking about the swift business the Americans did with winery weddings, wondering if he really wanted a bunch of drunk, bitchy brides traipsing around his castle.

  


“Well, what do you say?” Antonio asked insistently, his hand around Lovino’s gone oddly slick, his voice a little tremulous. 

  


“Uh,” Lovino started warily, concerned that Antonio had somehow gotten weirdly attached to the idea, “Are you sure you want to go into the wedding business? Seems like a fucking pain in the ass to me…” 

  


Antonio sighed, breath rushing out as he smiled more gently and shook his head, murmuring softly,  ”I meant for just one wedding.” 

  


Lovino’s eyes went wide and his heart tightened in his chest, every single inch of his skin heating unbearably as he read the intentions in the warm, affectionate, hope and worry in Antonio’s gaze.

  


“Holy fuck,” Lovino whispered once he remembered how to breath, “Are you fucking proposing to me?” 

  


Antonio laughed nervously, smothering his fingers and his hand in kisses, stroking the skin of his wrist as he nodded and said plainly, “I am.” 

  


“Holy fuck,” Lovino repeated, feeling as though his mind might forever be stuck in the impossibility and wonder of this moment. 

  


“Ah, that’s not really an answer,” Antonio whispered as he got out of his seat and slid to his knees on the floor in front of him, taking Lovino’s startled face between his hands, “Though I am sure we could do just as much fucking as a married couple as we do now.” 

  


“You’re damned right,” Lovino said breathlessly, closing his eyes when Antonio kissed each of his cheeks before brushing over his lips and whispering:

  


“So, can you tell me yes so my heart can stop trying to kill me?” 

  


Lovino laughed a little and opened his eyes, knowing he would never forget the how it felt to be looked at like this, like he was the best thing Antonio had ever seen or like he was the one thing worth wanting in the whole goddamned world. He had a sneaking suspicion the look in his own eyes might have said a little bit the same.

  


“Fuck, yes, alright, I’ll marry you,” Lovino said in a rush, anything else he had intended to say erased by the caress of Antonio’ desperate kiss that nearly knocked him from his chair. 

  


When they broke apart to breathe, his lips were swollen and wet and Antonio had practically crawled into his lap, murmuring promises that made him really fucking glad Antonio couldn’t see the redness of his face, though he was certain he could feel the flush beneath his wandering, searching fingers. 

  


“Damn, I’ll do it just to shove it in Rome’s smug asshole face that _I_ managed to expand my empire,” Lovino said smugly, pressing a kiss to Antonio’s temple. 

  


“So you just want me for my vineyards?” Antonio teased. 

  


“Did I ever imply I wanted you for anything else, bastard?” Lovino taunted back, tilting his neck to make room for the kisses Antonio seemed determine to lavish on his throat. 

  


Antonio pulled away to look at him with serious, certain eyes, voice as warm and rich as the Rioja in his glass when he said, “As long as you promise to always want me for something, I’ll be happy.” 

  


Lovino swallowed around the heart he feared was going to take up permanent residence in his throat if Antonio kept saying such fucking ridiculously romantic things. He smiled, rare and soft, shaking his head slowly as he kissed Antonio with all the unworthy love he possessed, trusting in the happiness rushing in his veins, intoxicating as wine. 

  


“Bastard, I’ll always want you for everything.”  



	3. The First Pour

Even though the room was abuzz with conversation and filled from end to end with VIP guests and their nearest and dearest all downing his wine with apparent pleasure and sighing as they put another bite of Antonio’s cooking between their increasingly purpled and alcohol softened lips, Lovino only eyes for one.

Opening night and the restaurant looked fan-fucking-tastic, if Lovino did say so himself, (which he had, several times over when that bastard Rome had tried to insinuate that he’d seen better in Italy. As a rule, Lovino would have agreed with the superiority of Italian everything, but this place was Antonio’s and no one talked shit about Antonio but him), and the food he actually managed to swallow over his nerves had been perfect enough to impress even Francis Bonnefoy.

And if it didn’t, well, Lovino was pretty sure he knew some guys in Sicily that could make a Frenchman change his tune. 

Feliciano and the potato-faced German were red faced and looking too fucking cozy in the corner and Lovino was fairly certain that Rome was trying to make good with Veronique, but he couldn’t be bothered to rouse himself from his slump in the corner, wine glass dangling between his fingers and bottle in the other. Each sip he took in his carefully guarded solitude was a silent, unspoken toast to the man of the hour, the only thing in such a beautiful and ebullient room worth watching, worth every second of his fucking time and attention.

Though he wouldn’t have admitted such a thing without the insidious influence of some of the potato-bastard’s beer or Rome’s secret stash of gut-wreching grappa, Lovino couldn’t quite swallow the wine past the lump in his throat when he thought of how goddamned happy Antonio looked, standing there in the midst of all their friends and family, practically radiating like the sun that warmed the earth that made his wine. Lovino wondered how much of the wine he’d had to think such ridiculous things, wondering what had happened between the minute he stepped off the plane in Bilbao all those months ago to this moment, staring at Antonio like a lovesick idiot worse than his brother and thinking that it was entirely possible that he, too, had never been so happy to see someone else so happy. 

Of course, when Antonio turned to find him staring, his lips turned downwards and his stupid cheeks still went the color of Rioja, two of the surest ways to ensure that the overly concerned asshole was going to abandon his rightful place as the celebrated chef and toast of the town to come and assuage Lovino’s fluttering feelings. 

Lovino drank deeply to cover the thoughts he’d been having, idle musings on how much he’d gladly endure Rome all night if Antonio would keep smiling like that, like he’d never expected to wake up one day and find all his dreams had come true. 

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” Antonio asked as he crouched down in front of Lovino’s chair, worming his way between the slouch of his knees without even asking, the silver band glinting in the candlelight as he rubbed Lovino’s leg. 

Lovion stared at the innocent looking piece of jewelry, suddenly aware of the weight of the matching piece on his own finger, covering Antonio’s anxious hand with his, and muttering, “Nothing’s wrong, bastard. Look around you, everything’s goddamned perfect, and you know it.”

Antonio raised their joined hands, kissing his palm and giving him one of those looks that Lovino knew meant he wasn’t getting out this with irascibility and  four lettered distractions, asking softly but surely, “Not quite perfect, since my perfect Lovino is sitting over here in the corner by himself.” 

Lovino snorted and tugged Antonio a little closer, closing his knees around his shoulders, “Like anyone misses my fucking company.” He held up his glass and raised in a toast, voice thick with rare warmth as he stilled Antonio’s protests that certainly everyone wanted his company, “Besides, bastard, tonight is your night. You should enjoy it.” 

“I can’t enjoy it if you are unhappy,” Antonio murmured, peering up at Lovino through hooded eyes, rubbing his thumb over Lovino’s hand.

Lovino flushed and rolled his eyes, wondering what stupidity he’d been shackled to for life, confessing lowly, “I’m the exact opposite of unhappy, Idiot Antonio. I’ve just been drinking and thinking.” 

“Well, from the look on your face, you must have been thinking something pretty serious,” Antonio said, clearly not yet sold on Lovino’s very convincing argument, “Are you sure everything is alright? That the party is ok? You like the restaurant…”

Lovino groaned and stopped Antonio’s goddamned ridiculous train of thought with a kiss, tasting the wine he’d made on Antonio’s breath, kissing him until the bastard was smiling and sighing into his arms, making a scene in front of a room full of well-fed  drunks. But beneath the hand he’d managed to cup around Antonio’s face he could feel the lingering tension, could feel the totally fucking unacceptable frisson of anxiety for someone as unimportant as Lovino in the hesitancy of Antonio’s kiss,

Well, there was nothing goddamned for it, Lovino thought as Antonio released him, mouth already on the verge of asking his irritating, unnecessary questions again. 

“Bastard,” Lovino said gruffly, smoothing a thumb over the persistent wrinkle of worry and affection Antonio always seemed to have when he was near, “I was thinking that I loved you. Now get the fuck back out there. Its my party, and I’ll get drunk and ogle you if I want to.”


	4. The Blending Process

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Wedding

**The Blending Process**

It couldn’t have been more fucking perfect, Lovino reflected as he followed Antonio aimlessly down the gnarled vine rows, still too lost in the haze of the sweetness of the day and disbelief that any of this had actually happened to find any of the rancor and cynicism he wore like armor. The morning sky had been so blue and clear it was almost as pretty as Sicily’s, and the breeze had been just enough to cool the desperate, happy blush on his face while he’d stumbled and then rushed through his vows, looking only at the curve of Antonio’s wide, sure smile, letting the shape of Antonio’s joy anchor his feet the ground. He hadn’t been able to hear the cheers of those few bearing witness to the blending of two lives over the hammering of his heart and the whispers of _“I love you so much,”_ when Antonio kissed him with so much idiotic passion they’d both tumbled into the soft red dirt of the vineyard, joined together forever in holy fucking matrimony.

There had been an afternoon with the food Antonio had cooked and the wine Lovino had made once upon a time in Trapani shared on a picnic blanket with all the people he tolerated most in this world and few that he’d deigned to put up with for a weekend because Antonio loved them and against all his best intentions, he loved Antonio. He’d felt smug to be proven so fucking right, that something like this, small and intimate and easy had been so much better than a huge party full of people he didn’t give a fuck about pretending to give a damn that a Carriedo had married a Vargas.

Rather than wait for months to “do it right,” they’d done it their way. And even though he’d felt fucking ridiculous when he’d first mumbled to Antonio that maybe it would be kind of okay to just pick a weekend and tie their knot in the place that brought them together, it had been worth Antonio’s unfounded accusations of Lovino’s secret romanticism to get married where he felt the most at home to the person who was his home. Instead of endless handshakes and reminders to be be polite, Lovino had Antonio’s head resting in his lap, hair spilling over his thigh, warm and soft in the afternoon sun, and a marriage license signed by his brother and his darling Veronique. No fucking first dance in a room full of gawkers because Antonio had let him trade that humiliation for lazy hours gladly ignoring Bonnefoy’s smirk, the Potato Bastard stiff congratulations, and the Potato Bastard’s Brother’s cackling in favor of watching the glint of sunlight on the ring he’d put on Antonio’s finger.

And now, when the food was gone and the bottles were empty and the lucky bastards who’d witnessed and consumed it all were taking siesta, Lovino could think of nothing but the press of metal against his skin as Antonio laced their hands together and led him into the fields, still radiating so much happiness it fucking burned. He wanted to share the intoxication he felt every time _“I do”_ echoed in the sun and wine drenched chaos of this thoughts, wanted to let it spin out from his heart into Antonio’s, twining their fates together as surely as branch and root.

It was shameless and fucking dangerous to be like this, Lovino knew, to be so goddamned in love and reckless that he didn’t think twice about stopping Antonio’s slow steady progress through their land to pull him into a kiss richer and deeper than a Brunello and say nothing but _“yes, fuck, yes,”_ when Antonio dragged him down into the dirt to hide the clinging of their bodies behind the winding green of the vines. But there wasn’t a damn to be given that they might get caught or be seen tangled up and half-clothed, Antonio spread over his legs with desperate hands in his hair, embracing him like he’d never wanted anything so fucking badly.

There was too much sunshine, even in the late hour of the afternoon and the ground was rough and abrasive against the bareness of his skin when Antonio pulled the shirt from his body and pushed him down, broad tanned hands hot against his chest but for that tiny, telling band of coolness that made him quiver. And his own hands were too busy trying to divest Antonio of every piece of clothing that dared to get in the way of his appreciation of the man who had promised him always to be bothered by the grit that got under his nails every time Antonio rocked into him just right and murmured hot, filthy little endearments in his ear, sending his hands scrabbling into the dirt for purchase.

But just as he felt all the anxiety and joy of the day rushing up down his body to pool hot and hard and so fucking ready, Antonio stilled and sweetened, the mood between them going as thick and cloying as Port. Lovino found himself pinned under absolute fucking adoration and that soft, small smile that never failed to make his chest hurt just a little, shaking his head and closing his eyes when Antonio whispered that there was no need to rush, that he planned to take forever to discover all the ways to make Lovino come undone just for him.

And because he’d just sworn to take the man for better or for worse, Lovino knew he had no goddamned choice but to permit Antonio such indulgences, enduring the slow temptation of Antonio’s lips and fingers and salt-slicked skin over his body, too fucking much and not enough all at once. The sun was in his eyes and in the simmer of their shared desire, and there was wine on his tongue and in the damned insatiable longing he had for this man who held him like he was fragile but kissed him like he’d never break. He clung to Antonio, arms and legs draped over the warmth of his body, taking and treasuring every last damned thing the man was idiot enough to give to someone like him, giving back all that he had and hoping Antonio could taste happiness in his mouth and hear love in his low, needy sighs.

Antonio was so gentle when he got like this it was fucking cruel, and on any other day Lovino would have kicked his heels against Antonio’s back and told him to fucking get on with it already, but just this once it seemed okay to be the kind of lover who moaned and begged and pushed into every too soft touch and blushed with pleasure from whispered praise. After all, Antonio was rolling into every arch of Lovino’s body, looking so fucking perfect, so goddamned gorgeous with the sun shining through his hair and his lips ruined and reddened by Lovino’s greedy kiss, that he didn’t really have a choice but to fulfill every little demand his husband made of him.

And as that word passed through the haze of his mind and the tremble of his heart, Lovino pressed his lips to the ring on Antonio’s finger and gave up the fight, trusting Antonio to give him everything he needed, just as he always had.

Just as Lovino believed he always would.

In the quietness that followed, when all the wanting had been stolen from him and spilled into Antonio’s hands and beneath his lips, leaving him naked and warm in the dirt, Lovino let himself smile into the curve of Antonio’s throat and promised the bastard that he’d live up to his end of that whole equal partnership deal he’d signed on for just as soon as he could catch his breath and say _I love you_.


	5. Gran Reserva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honeymoon schmoop and smut

Lolling in the hammock, while listening to the steady beat of Antonio’s heart and the rushing of the tide, Lovino finally came to the conclusion that there might just be something to the whole honeymoon notion. He sure as hell wasn’t going to open his mouth (which was currently occupied with Antonio’s tongue) and tell the bastard he had been right…but maybe, just maybe, when they’d gone back home and there were no more lazy afternoons to be had, he’d tell the stubborn bastard _thanks_.

Six weeks ago, Antonio had dared to disturb him in the cellar, pestering him with kisses and questions, wanting to know where his sweetheart wanted to go on their honeymoon. Lovino had cast off his affection and his query with an impatient reminder that he sure as fuck wasn’t going anywhere during the middle of growing season.

Antonio had surprised him by digging in his heels and insisting to the point that Lovino had finally snapped and asked, “What the fuck does it matter if we go on a goddamned honeymoon or not? We’re going to be married, bastard. You’ve got the rest of your life to be with me.”

He’d thought that would win the argument, that the admission of _forever_ that still made him feel delirious and drunk would be enough to smooth over the wrinkle of Antonio’ stubborn disappointment, but he’d been proven as wrong as ever when Antonio wrapped him in his embrace and murmured,

“Yes, but I want to go away with you and just be married. No vines, no cooking, no cell phones, or nosy relatives. We can go anywhere, so long as we do nothing but be with each other.”

Antonio had looked so serious, so determined that Lovino hadn’t had a damned thing to say in his dubious defense, caving far too quickly for his Italian pride as he’d hung his head and muttered, _“_ Fine, fine. We can go on a goddamned honeymoon, you sappy bastard. But you’re doing all the planning.”

“It will be worth it, sweetheart, I promise,” Antonio had whispered, holding him close in the cool dark of the cellar while he spun out daydream fantasies of where they would go and how warm they would be.

Now, with the hum of too fucking fruity drinks clouding his mind and the bliss of a nap on the horizon, Lovino was grudgingly happy to admit that his new husband had proven himself capable of keeping his word. Antonio’s fingers were in his hair, stroking the sun warmed strands from his face, and their legs were tangled together, skin sandy rough and a little sticky. It had been like this for days, endless kissing and touching and fucking, like their hands and lips couldn’t bear to be parted. Ever since they’d closed the door to condo and been left alone with nothing but each other and the vast expanse of blue sea, they’d been unable to kick this new addiction.

It was fucking ridiculous, Lovino thought as he somehow managed to cling just a little closer without tipping them out of the hammock. There was no good reason to act like they’d been starved for this, like they’d just met and fallen into that first blush of infatuation when there was no such thing as enough.

It wasn’t enough in the mornings to be sprawled across Antonio and slip beneath the covers to pull a cock already half-hard between his lips and give him a wake-up call of a different sort entirely. It wasn’t enough to wrap his legs around Antonio’s waist beneath the water and roll their hips together in time with the waves until they were both laughing and gasping for air, trying not to make a goddamned scene in front of all the tourists. It wasn’t enough to rush out of dinner because there was something about the easy happiness of Antonio’s smile in the candlelight that Lovino couldn’t stand to go without for another fucking second. It wasn’t even enough to let Antonio lace their pinkies together while they lounged on the beach, drinking anything but wine, and saying nothing while they watched the sunset.

Apparently, there was something to the whole newlywed nonsense.

His lips fucking hurt from being kissed so much and his back was sore, and he was fairly certain he had more love bites that a goddamned teenager, but to his horror, Lovino found there wasn’t a damned thing he could do to keep from smiling and reaching for Antonio every time the sun glinted off the band around his finger.

And the beach was really fucking sunny.

Even now, his thumb rubbed over the warmth of burnished metal, tracing the circle that shackled the bastard to him for life, smirking into the kiss that suddenly deepened. He slung his leg over Antonio’s hips and counted himself lucky that Antonio had for once had enough sense to book a place with a private balcony, ready and willing to consummate their marriage for the third time that day.

“Again, sweetheart?” Antonio murmured lowly, tracing his finger over Lovino’s stinging lips and down the length of his chest to rest idly over the fold in Lovino’s shorts. 

Lovino closed his eyes and raised his head just enough to nip at Antonio’s smirk, letting his own hand tease at the trail of hair that led the way from the dip of Antonio’s navel to the slowly rising swell of his cock. “Why the fuck not? Its not like we have anything better to do.” 

“Mmm,” Antonio agreed readily, the way he’d been doing all goddamned week, flattening his palm over Lovino’s lap and dragging down. “I want to be on our honeymoon forever.”

Lovino snorted, flushing the way he’d been doing all goddamned week, “Idiot. There wouldn’t be anything special about it if it never ended.” 

“Everything with you is special.”  

“God, stop being so fucking sappy,” Lovino grumbled, wondering how many anniversaries would pass before his stupid cheeks would stop heating every time Antonio said something unbelievably cheesy and wonderful. He pushed into the hand stroking him over his pants to cover the ridiculous surge of _love_ he felt for this man who could say such stupidly romantic things and mean them entirely. “Just get on with it.”

Antonio kissed him in that way that never failed to make his toes curl and his breath go ragged, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth and worrying it with his teeth before licking away the redness and moaning like he’d never had anything better. He sighed and answered Antonio’s challenge with a hint of tongue, sliding it slowly over Antonio’s and over the curve of his lip, tasting the salted remnants of the sea and the tang of tequila. 

It was a delicate balance, trying to get close enough without tipping the hammock. It was almost too much to turn enough on his side and lean just so into the steadiness of Antonio’s embrace. It meant they had to touch gently, as soft and slow as the spooling out of another indolent afternoon. But Lovino trusted in the splay of Antonio’s hand against the curve of his back and knew that even if they did go tumbling to the sand, they wouldn’t stop. They were too fucking gone on each other for that now, bound and determined for the rest of their lives to figure out the tricky business of staying afloat. 

He opened his eyes to glare when the hand that had been caressing him through his shorts disappeared, only smirk wickedly at the haze of wanting in green as that abandoning hand was brought to his mouth. The hammock swayed as he rocked into Antonio’s hip and parted his lips, giving the bastard a bit of a show and flicking his tongue over each finger tip and down to the warmth of his palm, biting the calloused space where hand met wrist. He rubbed Antonio through his pants and sucked two fingers between his lips, smirking at the feeling of his cock twitching beneath his hand as he moaned and whetted the skin he wanted wrapped around his dick. 

Antonio groaned and pulled the fingers from his mouth, kissing him messily as the hammock tilted alarmingly to the side, threatening to spill over. Lovino laughed breathlessly and sucking lightly on the tongue that had replaced the fingers now pushing beneath the band of his shorts to spread the wetness at the tip of his cock. Carefully, he brought his own hand up to cup Antonio’s jaw, forcing his thumb between their mouths to drag down Antonio’s lip, sliding two fingers over a willing and wicked tongue. 

For a time, he indulged in the sensation of Antonio’s fingers circling over the crown of his cock and Antonio’s lips sealed over his fingers, while he watched Antonio watching him, so close and so intimate he could see the sweat beading beneath the mess of his hair. It was impossible to arch or writhe, to push too hard into the tease of Antonio’s touch, the pleasure slowed and drawn out like the lazy sway of the hammock. But when Antonio winked at him and twisted his wrist so his palm was flat against his cock and let hand drip low enough to brush the tips of his fingers against his balls, Lovino decided it was worth the fucking risk to have his hand wrapped around the bastard so he could treat him with equal cruelty. 

Antonio, however, only smiled and presumed to kiss him once more, spreading his legs to make room for the insistence of Lovino’s hand and caressing the small of his back. He liked the hot drag of Antonio’s cock against his fingers, so hard and eager for his touch and the way that Antonio hummed into their embrace and caressed the small of his back, somehow making lust and love and affection seem so easy. He liked the heat of the sun on his shoulders and the whisper of the ocean breeze that tried and failed to get between the sticky, sweaty tangle of the limbs, and he liked the way Antonio knew just how to fucking touch him. 

He’d never admit it, never do what Antonio did and say the things in his heart as though it was as simple as knowing which fruit to cull from the vine, but he knew that Antonio believed in all the things he couldn’t say but tried to give instead. As he curled his fingers around Antonio’s cock and shivered despite the warmth of the sun when Antonio tightened his fist and stroked, Lovino knew that Antonio understood there was a goddamned good reason he couldn’t stop touching his ring.

The hammock rocked while they brought each other off with slow, constrained strokes that had nothing on the wild and fervent way they’d fucked countless times in the days and nights of their escape from reality. It was nothing special, nothing grand, this lazy and artless tangle of limbs, but there was something in the gentleness with which Antonio held him and the aimless chase of pleasure.  Lovino wondered what it meant that they seemed more interested in seeing how long they could kiss without breathing than holding any sort of rhythm, so long as it meant they could keep on kissing. Lovino let the question waste away under the summer sun, knowing that moments of indulgence like this were as rare as vintage wine, meant to be savored and appreciated when discovered.

He knew he’d revisit the taste of this moment when he was tired or when the harvest went to shit or when Antonio had managed to forget to place yet another for the kitchen. He knew now why Antonio had wanted this so badly, had wanted to do nothing more than just  _be_ , so when everything else went to hell, they could remember that this was what waited for them on the other side if they could just hold on to one another. 

But in the here and now, on his fucking honeymoon, blissed out on happiness and the impossibility of it all, Lovino savored the feeling of Antonio sighing against his lips and pushing into his hand, spilling hot over his fingers. He broke their kiss to let Antonio watch him pull his hand from his shorts and push his stained fingers beneath his own to urge the forgotten stroking of Antonio’s fingers. Antonio’s lips curled in appreciation as Lovino laced their fingers together and spread Antonio’s come over his cock. Lovino closed his eyes and let Antonio whisper to him, sliding his cock between their hands and chasing down pleasure. 

“I love you,” Antonio murmured, kissing the hot, needy flush of his cheek while Lovino gasped and cursed and struggled. “Come for me. Let me see you, sweetheart.” 

“Fuck,” Lovino groaned as he finally came, arching so far forward that the hammock gave up the ghost and sent them tumbling to the sand in a mess of limbs that had him sprawled over Antonio’s chest. The shock of hitting sand lessened the sweetness of his orgasm but he knew he’d never forget the sound of Antonio’s happy laughter or the way they looked tangled beneath a hammock with sticky fingers and shameless smiles. 

Lovino buried his head once more against Antonio’s shoulder, resuming the position that had gotten them into the mess in the first place, reaching for Antonio’s hand beneath the sand. Antonio laced their fingers together and brought their joined hands to his mouth, kissing the rings they both now wore as he winked and then closed his eyes, seemingly content to spend the rest of the afternoon debauched in the sand. 

Lovino cast his gaze once more to the sea before shutting his eyes to the shine of metal and whispering, “I love you, too.”


End file.
